


breaks in the morning light

by fulmentus



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, the fight never happens and they're Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulmentus/pseuds/fulmentus
Summary: “You look happy, Jane.”She looks at her mother, seats herself at the end of the bed. Can’t help how her smile widens. “I am, Mom.”





	breaks in the morning light

****Jane has never been a morning person.

As someone who stays up hours at a time working and worrying — most of the time both at once — she does not appreciate the sun piercing her eyelids, or the birds singing outside the window.

( _You should close the window then_ , Petra says, pointed and accentuated with an arched brow.

And Jane just laughs, kisses her before she can say anything else about humidity and how unsafe it is to leave the window open.)

But now, her eyelids flutter, squeeze shut at the glare of sunbeams seeping through the partially open blinds. There’s a warm pressure against her back, around her waist, and Jane shifts a little. Looks over her shoulder and smiles.

When she first met Petra Solano, Jane would have never guessed her to be an overtly tactile person. She stood ramrod straight, a spine made of ice and steel, a gaze just as cold — a pillar never toppled.

A testament to how much she’s been through, how much she’s had to endure.

Jane couldn’t begrudge her for that then, for wanting to protect herself through layers and layers of walls she’s had to build through the years. Jane understood that. Has had to do the same, has had to build herself stronger, taller, to support her mother.

Yet Petra managed to slip through the defenses, all flustered hand motions, rambling sentences, and a tenderness toward her daughters that didn’t seem to suit her at all, but Jane still couldn’t help but find endearing all the same.

She twists more fully, resists the urge to laugh when Petra’s arms tighten in a response, a scowl pulling at her lips even in sleep. Jane faces a slumbering Petra, and feels herself soften, something warm and content settling between her ribs.

She reaches out, traces the side of Petra’s face with her fingers, tucks an errant wave of blonde hair behind her ear. Petra hums at the contact, leans into the touch, and Jane leaves her hand there, presses her thumb against her cheek.

“JR,” Petra grumbles, voice gravelly with sleep as she rouses from Jane’s attention, her eyes a sliver of blue beneath her lashes, “it’s my day off.” Even as she complains, she doesn’t push Jane’s hand away.

Jane leans in closer, their foreheads touching, the space between them nearly nonexistent, and Petra opens her eyes again, face half-creased with sleep. Her gaze flicks between Jane’s.

She sighs. “You’re insufferable.”

Jane laughs, pulls away slightly. “You said to wake you at,” she glances at the clock, “eight, which,” she slides her hand down Petra’s cheek, cups her chin, “I don’t understand since it’s, like you said, your day off.”

Petra removes a hand from around Jane’s torso, reaches to fold it over Jane’s wrist. “That doesn’t mean I should stay in bed all day.” She releases Jane from her embrace and makes to slide off the bed, but Jane holds her steadfast. “ _JR_.”

“Oh, come on, Pete,” Jane goads, tugging her closer, lips ghosting the side of her neck, fingers dancing along her waist, “one more hour.”

“I need to take the twins to Rafael’s soon.” And oh, it’s a weak protest, half-hearted as Petra melts beneath Jane’s wandering hands, still glaring but no longer resistant.

Jane rolls her eyes and kisses her soundly, lips moving slow and soft against Petra’s.

(They aren’t going anywhere any time soon.)

They fall into each other, all breathless laughter and a sprawl of hapless limbs, suffused in the pale sunlight of morning.

///

“We should really get up.”

Jane hums against Petra’s shoulder, nuzzles the bare skin there. “Probably.”

She feels Petra shift, arm groping around behind them for her phone until it knocks against the nightstand. “Rafael texted me. He can’t watch the girls today.” There’s another groan after, and Jane hooks her chin over Petra’s shoulder, quirks a brow.

“What’s the matter?”

Petra jabs at her phone screen. “Work.” She turns, and Jane catches the tail-end of her developing pout. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Jane murmurs, pressing a kiss to the underside of Petra’s jaw, smiling a little at the fluttery sigh she lets out, “it’s fine.”

“None of the nannies are available at this short of notice either.”

Petra slips out of bed in her barely clothed glory, and Jane has to stop her eyes from wandering over her agitated frame, hands itching to rest at her sides, calm her down.

No nannies and no Rafael. This rarely happens, and whenever it did in the past, Petra always managed to rope JV into watching the girls for a few hours, but from what Jane’s heard, JV has a writing thing going on today.

She frowns, thoughtful as Petra walks the length of her room, shaking her phone in her hand, just about ready to snap at someone — probably Krishna, the poor girl.

“Petra,” Jane starts, and Petra stops pacing, stares at her expectantly. Jane chews carefully on her next words, doesn’t know what else to offer other than, “I can watch them.”

There’s a pause, and Petra just _stares_ at Jane, mouth parted in shock, eyes wide. “Are – are you sure?” Petra asks, uncertain, slowly approaching the bed.

Jane props herself up on the headboard, shrugs a shoulder. “Petra,” she says, grinning, “I’ve watched the girls before, remember?” Petra stands, wordless. “The fashion show?”

“I remember,” Petra responds slowly, and Jane still sees hesitation in the way Petra presses the palms of her hands together, pushes. “I know you don’t like kids.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Jane insists. Petra settles her knees against the mattress, gnawing at her bottom lip. “I can take them to see my mom.”

“Your mom?” Petra’s brows knit together, worried. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I think my mom would like some company,” Jane tilts her head, runs an absent hand through her mussed hair. “Someone other than me.”

“If you’re sure...” Petra still sounds unsure about the whole thing.

Jane grasps Petra’s hands in her own, squeezes gently. “I’m sure.”

Her shoulders deflate then, and Petra nods once, twice. “Okay.” She pulls one of Jane’s hands to her mouth, plants a kiss across her knuckles. “Thank you.”

Jane waves her off, fondness pulsing in her veins as Petra laughs. “Now go get ready.”

“All right, all right.”

///

It doesn’t take long for the girls to agree to let Jane take them. If anything, they seem excited at the prospect of doing something different for once.

(Which isn’t a jab at Rafael because Jane has never parented before, so it’s not like she can say anything.

Though, other than his taste in scotch, Jane doesn’t know what else is going for him.)

They’re the most talkative Jane has ever seen them, and Petra has to chase them around the couch before they settle down enough for them to take the girls down to Jane’s car. Once they’re both buckled in, Petra lets out a breath, turns to Jane again.

“Are you positive you’re all right with this?” She glances between the window and Jane. “Because I can—”

Jane just kisses her. “I’m sure,” she says against Petra’s lips, hoping that by feeling the words against her mouth will help Petra relax. “You don’t have to worry.”

Petra shakes herself, dazed. “Okay.” She shoots another fleeting look at Ellie and Anna. “Okay.”

Jane takes her hand again. “Now go take care of your hotel. Everything will be fine.”

Petra swings their arms once, the motion absent-minded, natural almost, before she nods resolutely to herself. She taps at the window. “ _Behave_ , girls.”

“We will, Mom!”

(They certainly did last time.

Even in clothes far too large for them and heels they really shouldn’t have been wearing, the girls were exceptionally well-behaved.)

Petra smiles at them, all soft eyes and creased lips, and the girls return it with identical beaming faces, hands waving from behind the glass.

Jane doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this family before her.

///

Aida greets them warmly, nodding along to whatever the twins babble — Ellie more so than Anna. Anna goes off to one of the chairs and pulls out a book and crayons, while Ellie regales her mother with some story or another.

Jane rests her hip against the doorframe, huffs out a laugh whenever her mother meets her gaze over Ellie’s head.

“They’re wonderful girls,” her mother says in between Ellie’s increasingly more animated storytelling.

Jane steps toward them, intent of freeing her mother from Ellie’s clutches, but as soon as she’s near enough, Ellie latches onto her arm, pulling her toward Anna, story completely forgotten.

“JR, come look,” Ellie motions toward Anna, and Anna lifts the drawing she was working on, hands it to Ellie, who shoves it at Jane, both of them giggling and eyeing Jane expectantly — a look they no doubt learned from their mother.

She takes the picture from Ellie, fingers pressing into the page. It’s a picture of them, of Ellie and Anna, and Petra off to the side — and oh, _Jane_ is there, too, hands clasped with scribbled in colors.

And she feels that familiar warmth in her chest again, lets her mouth stretch with the glow. Feels a tenderness building behind her diaphragm, and she understands how Petra simply melts around these two.

She can sense her mother’s eyes on her, sees from her peripheral the smile that never seems to leave her face.

(It’s been a while since her mother as smiled so freely, smiled over something as simple as two kids occupying her space, not forgetting one thing or another.

And Jane’s heart aches.)

“Thank you,” Jane whispers to the twins, and they leap at her, hugging her fiercely before returning to their drawings.

Jane walks back to her mother, placing the picture down beside her bag.

“You look happy, Jane.”

She looks at her mother, seats herself at the end of the bed. Can’t help how her smile widens. “I am, Mom.”

Her mother’s hand reaches for hers, folds over Jane’s, gnarled and wrinkled, and Jane can feel every bone and knuckle jutting from beneath her paper-thin skin. Aida squeezes, a weak flex of her fingers.

Her eyes are clear, lacking the usual haze that clouds their warm depths. “Hold on to it.”

Jane rubs her thumb across the back of her mother’s hand, nods. “I will.”

The twins squeal at their drawings, and Aida laughs, coos at them with that same warm smile and warm eyes Jane remembers from her youth, and she sighs. Lets their banter wash over her, soft and light and reminiscent of the sun peeking through the window.

///

“Did they behave?” Petra asks as they settle into bed.

“Yes,” Jane assures her, patting her pillow into shape. “My mom loves them.”

“Oh thank god.” Petra sags onto the bed, boneless. Jane clicks her tongue, tugs a little at the blankets. “Blanket hog.”

“ _Me?_ ” Jane snorts, hitching a brow. “All the blankets end up on your side in the morning.”

“ _You_ also end up on my side,” Petra shoots back, tilting her head up so she can meet Jane’s eyes, and they’re so blue, like the waters of the beach when the sun glances off the surface.

She climbs into bed then, leaning over Petra, hair falling in a dark curtain around them.

“What?” It’s a whisper, Petra’s fingers slipping through her hair, guiding Jane’s face down toward her.

And it’s that same sensation again, that makes it feel like Jane is holding a piece of the sun within her chest, locked behind her ribs.

“I love you,” she says simply, smiling when Petra’s face warms pink, turns her head away, teeth sinking into her lip.

Her eyes skitter everywhere but Jane’s face until, “I love you, too.” Soft and tentative, and so unlike Petra, but Jane loves her for it.

///

Jane finds the picture in her bag the next morning, tucked between two client folders to keep it from wrinkling.

It’s another bright morning — the only type of morning that seems to exist in Miami — and she sees the colors more vividly on the page in the pale sunlight, makes out the details of this family. A family that seemingly accepted her into the fold so easily.

“Did the girls draw that?”

Jane looks up, finds Petra stepping out of the bathroom, hair still wrapped in a towel. “Oh,” Jane glances down at the drawing again, holds it tightly in her hands (hers, hers, hers, a new family.)

( _Hold on to it_ , her mother told her.

And oh, Jane will.)

“Yeah,” she breathes out, an uncomfortable lump of emotion lodging itself in her throat.

“Jane?” Petra’s at her side now, hand resting on the crook of her elbow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she coughs for good measure, flaps the paper around until Petra stills it, takes it from her, “I’m fine.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Petra’s eyes are wide, hands trembling around the edges of Ellie and Anna’s drawing. “Jane, I am so sorry if this made you uncomfortable—“

“—No,” Jane holds up a hand, sucks in a breath, “it didn’t. It surprised me is all.”

She extends a hand to take it back, and Petra returns it. Jane looks at it again, absorbs the feeling of it. “I like it.”

(It’s going in a frame on her desk, Jane decides then.)

And oh, with the girls choosing that moment to burst in, Rafael hot on their heels, apologies flying from his mouth at rapid speeds, Petra waving him off trying to make them _get out, please_ , Jane finds herself still not a morning person.

But, watching these people, allowing herself be tugged along to Saturday brunch, sneaking in a few kisses with Petra when the kids aren’t looking, she thinks she can get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> title from: all this and heaven too - florence + the machine


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